


let's try this one more time

by thestarsarewinning



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, Michigan, POV Multiple, Post-Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:34:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22438042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsarewinning/pseuds/thestarsarewinning
Summary: It’s a lot like nothing has changed; Jimmy sees her from across the room as he steps in the door, sat at the bar. Well. He notices a pretty girl that reminds him of Fiona, but every pretty girl reminds him of Fiona.or, Fiona and Jimmy get one more chance
Relationships: Fiona Gallagher/Jimmy Lishman
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	let's try this one more time

**Author's Note:**

> so im new to shameless but already a little bit obsessed and here we are 
> 
> nothing belongs to me, i'm just borrowing a few things to play house

It’s Michigan, this time. He’s a doctor, she’s escaping. 

**

It’s been years, and Michigan is the latest, and hopefully last, place Fiona’s landed. Philadelphia had felt not enough like home, and she was never going to be a California girl. Michigan, though. Sure, it’s Detroit, and Chicago isn’t too far behind her, but- It fits. 

There are no more nightclubs for her; not now. There’s too much drinking, too many reminders of before she left. Of why she left. There’s also no one she even wants to go dancing with. It’s harder to replace V as a best friend than she’d have ever thought. 

Instead, it’s a bar, a quiet one. It’s not nice, though. It’s a little bit like the Alibi, another piece of home, which means it’s nice, in its own way. Sticky floors, crap furniture, all standard for an out of the way, hole in the wall kind of place. She’s sitting at the bar, playing with her drink, one drink, just the one, but she has her good heels on anyway, her favourite earrings too, long and gold, her hair up. She’s almost happy. 

**

It’s a lot like nothing has changed; Jimmy sees her from across the room as he steps in the door, sat at the bar. Well. He notices a pretty girl that reminds him of Fiona, but every pretty girl reminds him of Fiona, he still sees her everywhere. 

He goes up to the bar, orders his drink before he allows himself to glance over at the girl and then he stops. Stops and stares because, for once, he’s right. “Fiona?” 

“Jimmy.” She’s smiling at him, faintly, which he doesn’t deserve, but it’s there, written across her face and he has to remind himself to breathe. He stops short of sitting next to her, though. There’s not enough stable ground between them for him to be able to presume that much, but he can’t help checking for her wedding ring. 

Fiona’s not wearing a ring and she’s smiling at him, and this isn’t the south side; it feels like it could be, sometimes, and that’s why Jimmy comes here, even though it’s eight blocks from the hospital and another fifteen to his place. 

Years seem to have vanished, though, because she’s smiling at him in a bar and he wants to ask what she’s doing here, in this bar, in Michigan, he wants to ask more, but he sticks with Michigan, and Fiona falters at the question for just a second before she shrugs, picking herself up. “Fresh start, you know?” 

“Just you, or should I be expecting half a dozen more Gallaghers?” He can’t help but glance around, as if he should see Frank propping up the other end of the bar, and he almost misses the shake of her head and the way her hand clenches around her glass. 

His drink is set in front go him and he shoves a few bills across the bar haphazardly, still watching Fiona. Her chin still juts up defiantly, and she still looks like the girl who would run half a block in heels from a club, but less like the girl who could make five lunches, answer the phone, carry a baby on her hip, and sign whatever slip was being waved in her face without breaking a sweat. She’s not that girl, he realises; the woman in front of him no longer runs after her family never-endingly, she’s here for herself. 

“Sorry to hear that,” he tries, and she snorts, barely a laugh, but he catches it anyway; a dozen follow up questions spring to mind - asking after the Gallaghers feels like an old habit - but he swallows them. 

He wants to know, though, heard rumours from one or two people. The south side was big on belonging, and once you did, you never stop. Some people still talk, still answer a phone every now and then, some people still have things to say to him. Not good things, though, and her being here makes him want to ask even more. 

Before the silence can stretch, she asks, “Doctor Lishman, still?”

“Still, yeah.” There’s a small stab wound accompanying the question, but he shrugs it off before he can read too much into it, though one look at Fiona has him feeling like he has nothing to say but also far too much. 

“You always were good with your hands,” Fiona teases and then he thinks it might be okay to take the seat next to hers, laugh just a little at the line but also the memories, of her soft and warm and the closet she called a room that they shared, but also keys, wire cutters, the fine line between getting away and getting caught. Her in the passenger seat next to him, the best memories of them all. 

There’s a gentle blush on her cheeks that he can’t help but notice, can’t help but like. 

**

Jimmy nods when she refuses another drink and offers dinner instead. 

It’s such an old dance that her first instinct, and second, and third, is to refuse. 

They’ve been here too many times. First, and then Gus, and then- And then. Fiona’s trying not to make any more dumb choices. 

Saying no feels dumb, though, it feels really fucking dumb when he’s sat there, a bigger piece of home than any dive bar and any city could ever be, a piece of home she has the urge to hang on to this time, so she steps up to the plate. “Breakfast tomorrow, instead. That work?”

He grins then, like he knew what she’d say and, maybe, she thinks, maybe he did. He knew her, once, knew everything, saw everything and bought a house. Bought a house, bought a washing machine before he ever knew her, became a barista- 

Breakfast is practically nothing in comparison.

“I think I could just about manage that.” The smile is still on his face, and, running her fingers up the side of her glass, Fiona realises she’s glad to see it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd love to see what you guys think, leave me a comment?


End file.
